Chapter 21
The dial tone is a flat, dead insect in my ear. I lower the phone. The screen goes black, reflecting the bruise on my cheekbone, a sickly purple bloom in the glass. Adrian’s silence hangs in the room, heavier than any threat. He didn’t speak. He just breathed. For five seconds, he let Marcus hear the void on the other end of the line. A declaration of war in empty air. I set the phone on the kitchen island. The marble is cold under my fingertips. The front door slams open. The sound cracks through the penthouse like a gunshot. I don’t jump. I just turn my head, slow, the movement pulling at the tender ache in my ribs. Marcus fills the doorway. His suit jacket is gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face is a mask of contained fury, the kind that turns his eyes to b
- Writer
